


The House At 108th Street

by thisishowithrash



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Bottom Jean, Bottom Jean Kirstein, Dark Marco Bott, Halloween, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Porn With Plot, Psychological Horror, Scary Stories, Smut, Vampires, car crash mention, it's a little vulgar i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:23:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisishowithrash/pseuds/thisishowithrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's the harm in having a little one night stand with the new guy in town?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Just broke my smut-cherry, pls tell me how I did, I need to get better for ... future projects.

It'd been a month already since Jean moved out of his parents house. It wasn't because he hated it there or because they forced him out like many other parents do. He just felt like it was time to be on his own after being taken care of for twenty-one years.

 

He was lucky to have had understanding parents, ones who didn't pressure him into going to college as long as he worked. They knew very well how much of a quicksand kind of town this was. Once you were in, there was no coming out. Most of the people who lived there had no college experience, the ones who did were the ones who'd moved here - not _born_.

 

They never really lasted either. The country life was too hard on city people. One of the main hardships there was that all the stores were impossible to just walk to, first you'd have to pack up some camping gear if you were crazy enough try it. Your car was your best friend - _especially_ if you were a teenager or young adult. It's what got you from John Smith's or whoever the fuck's house party to Mary Sue's cocaine basement.

 

But Jean liked it. All the open space left things to the imagination. There were a million horror stories that the native's of Trost liked to tell the new residents and his ears were always twitching with wonder when he'd hear them being told. It would sent shivers down his spine, but it never scared him because he knew how to be safe. And he also knew they were as fake as Mr. Shadis's yellow front teeth.

 

He hoped to be able to tell one of those stories one day, and that time came on a particularly cold and cloudy fall evening. His friend's had thrown a party for Halloween, inviting a new city folk. Jean hadn't seen them until hours after the party had started, but once he caught him in the sea of bodies stuffed in living room, he knew it was them.

 

Their wavy black hair stood out against all the blondes and brunets. It was the blackest piece of hair he'd ever seen. Their skin, though, was pale and almost glowing against the dullness of the house's walls. He was tall and even though he was wearing a costume, Jean could tell he had a bit of muscle to him.

 

And despite the distance between them, Jean noticed how their eyes were as black as their hair, void of any emotions even with that dimpled smile on his face. It made his blood freeze when that darkness made contact with his own eyes.

 

Jean looked away, afraid for some reason, but at the same time intrigued. With any luck, this guy was into sucking cock rather than sneaking off with married women and pounding them behind sheds. Being openly gay here meant trouble for him, so not only was his car his best friend, but also his right hand and toys from the internet.

 

Not that it bothered him. He was used to it by now, well, he _had_ to get used to it. There was no way in hell he would ever try to put the moves on someone he knew again. The first and only time he'd done it had resulted in him getting a black-eye and bruised ribs. He didn't know if he'd call it good luck, but the other guy had gotten in a car accident that night and passed away, never being able to reveal his secret.

 

"Beer?"

 

Jean felt a tap on his shoulder before turning around, accepting the red plastic cup without looking at who had offered it until the cape around them looked very familiar. He didn't have time to wonder how this guy had managed to walk through so many people in such a short amount of time, because the lights suddenly turned off, making all the girls squeal in excitement.

 

Moments later there were little orbs of light spinning around the room - hot pink, orange, purple and yellow. Jean couldn't see it, but he knew there was a fucking disco ball rolling around somewhere hidden in those heaps of bodies. The music that had been playing in the background was now being turned up higher than he liked, but he enjoyed the atmosphere it created when everyone started dancing so he decided not to bitch about it.

 

Plus, there was something more interesting to be paying attention to at the moment. Jean looked up at the stranger, the lights were dancing across his boy-ish face, illuminating it to reveal adorable freckles splattered on his cheeks and nose. His eyes, though, swallowed the light and it made Jean feel that uneasiness again.

 

"Thanks for the drink, uh--"

 

"Marco. My name's Marco."

 

"'M Jean. Nice to meet you, Marco," He smiled up at him when he said his name, hoping he'd catch his drift at how he was trying to flirt with him. But Jean knew how bad he was at this.

 

The expression on Marco's face remained friendly, "So what are you supposed to be, Jean?"

 

"Fuck, don't ask that. I work hard on my Greek God costume," Jean looked down at his white robe, "Do I look like a bride or somethin'?"

 

"No, no. I was just making sure," Marco looked him up and down. It didn't seem like there were any dirty thoughts going through his head, but Jean knew the difference between a straight and gay boy's gaze, "Looks good on you."

 

Jean took a big gulp from his cup, feeling the room getting hotter. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he just struck the lottery and found himself a potential one night stand. Maybe tonight he wouldn't have to be some angry straight boy's experiment and that thought alone threatened to swell his cock.

 

"And you? You're a... cape man?"

 

Marco gave out an airy laugh, "I guess I am kind of hiding it. Here, try to guess now."

 

He extended his arms out like the way a magician did when a dozen doves flew out of their cape. But there were no birds, only fancy frills of white underneath a black, silky vest. There were specks of fake blood on his shirt, some even on his arm sleeves. Marco didn't need the sharp teeth for him to guess what he was.

 

"You're a vampire, right?"

 

"Right!"

 

"It suits you."

 

Marco gave him a wicked smile, "Thank you."

 

Jean had to take another sip of his drink, it was getting way too stuffy in there. He could feel sweat on the back of his neck forming, and he really _really_ didn't want that right now. Not when he was so close to possibly finding a good fuck tonight.

 

"Hey, wanna go outside or somethin'? Getting a little too hot in here."

 

"Yeah, sure," Marco grinned, showing his sweet dimples at him.

 

"Follow me."

 

Jean finally moved from near the entrance of the front door where he'd been all evening. Parties were fun and all, but he's experienced enough of them where fights broke out and where cheaters were caught in the bedrooms or bathrooms. It could always turn ugly real quick, and he was always ready for an escape route. And tonight was no different.

 

He lead them down the crowded hallway. The disco lights didn't reach there, but there was a faint tint of red that splashed against the wall and some faces. The corners were black, as well as other bodies, but Jean could still see. He looked back to make sure Marco was still with him, feeling his heart jump at his expression. That friendly smile of his was still plastered on his face, but his black eyes were staring back with eagerness and something Jean could only describe as ... _hunger_.

 

When he finally bumped his way into the kitchen, Jean chugged the rest of his drink and abandoned it on the counter before they quickly made their way to the backyard. There were a couple of guys smoking pot out there, saying hello before going back inside.

 

Jean guessed they weren't the sharing type and continued walking. His friend who owned the house had an enormous field of corn. They had to walk down a steep, grassy hill before reaching it, but Jean was fine with that. He wanted safety from unwanted eyes that could get them into problems.

 

"I don't think I've ever seen this much corn ever in my life," Marco said once they were comfortably standing in the shadow of the hill. Even the moonlight couldn't see them now.

 

"'S normal around here. So where are you from anyway?"

 

"Actually, I was born here, but we moved after I turned one to Pennsylvania," He leaned against the dirt and smiled at their view, "I thought it was about time I came back."

 

Jean scooted closer to him, ignoring how the fall air bit at his nose, "Hope we gave you a warm welcome, then."

 

"Oh, you sure did. Some lady at the grocery store stopped me my first day here. She told me this crazy story about the lake that belongs to some abandoned house and how people are always dying in there?"

 

Jean snickered, feeling his time to shine, "Yeah, it's a bit weird, actually. Somehow, people keep ending up at that house. I was at this barbecue one time, about five miles from there, when this guy got completely fuckin' wrecked. We all went home thinking he got a ride from someone else, but then a week passed and no one's seen 'em. It took almost a month for the cops to find his rotting corpse down that lake. Still don't know how he'd managed to walk all the way there in his condition."

 

"Was he.. was he killed?"

 

"Cops say no, but everyone else thinks so," He shrugged, "Me personally, I'm not sure. No one lives anywhere near the damn place so I can't imagine a killer there. We're just scared of it because it's so old, it doesn't even have an address. Everyone just calls it The House At 108th Street."

 

"The House At 108th Street? Why that name?.. Why that number?"

 

"Because that's how many people have died there since way, way back and the old farts who came up with the name thought it was _clever_ so it stuck to even this generation," Jean snorted, then shrugged, "I guess it's unlucky that the place looks like shit. It makes it easy for us to make up stories about the supposed monsters that live there."

 

"So this happen often?"

 

"I wouldn't say _often_ , but people are dumb as fuck here so it's not so surprisin' that these kind of accidents happen all the time," Jean eyed him, "So where do you live? Did you move here alone?"

 

Marco slid closer to him, no longer intrigued by the story but by something else, "No, I have a couple of friends who've been living here for a long time. I still don't really know my address or other street names to be honest. Maybe you could help me with that someday and then I'll let you know where I live."

 

"Sure, no problem. But there's not that much to memorize so you'll be fine in no time if you're smart," Jean looked up at him with teasing eyes. Marco's maroon colored lips were so inviting, he could fantasize about licking them all night, "Hope you don't get tired of this place too quickly, though."

 

"Mm, I don't think I will."

 

"Your kind doesn't really last all that long here."

 

"My kind?" Marco giggled, "I think I'll be alright. I'm good at making the best of any situation."

 

Jean took a daring step towards him, searching for any signs of discomfort but finding none. He'd been right to guess Marco was gay and those spots on his face just screamed how he'd be nice enough to make Jean be the first to put a move on him, "So how would you make the best out of this one?"

 

"That all depends."

 

"On what exactly?"

 

"On what you're into."

 

The small amount of alcohol he'd drank gave Jean enough courage to slide even closer to Marco, asking him with his eyes if their closeness was alright. His nerves were telling him to back off, to literally run for the hills and get back to the crowd of people in the house, but his body disobeyed. A different part of him wanted to stay and it seemed like Marco wanted him to, too.

 

One of his blood splattered arms wrapped around Jean's back, pressing their bodies gently together.The other hand softly held the side of Jean's face, thumb caressing his lips with curiousness. Jean decided at that moment that there wasn't going to be anything to stop them from where this was going. Already this was more than he was ever given.

 

"You're very pretty," Marco whispered.

 

Jean didn't know how he felt about being called that, but that's all the invitation he needed to pull Marco down by the collar, earning a little _mph_ from the other by his sudden kissing. Luckily, they were on the same page. The boys didn't bother to be coy, refusing to start off with small pecks or tenderness and going straight to tongues swirling and exploring hands.

 

Fresh goosebumps crawled up Jean's legs and arms when he felt Marco's cold breath roaming down to his neck, enjoying the sensation of a hickey in the making. There was a nip at his collarbone that made him yelp in surprise, but the pain quickly faded and he was able to slide in between Marco's legs. Without caring about how desperate he might seem, Jean began to slowly grind against his thigh, holding onto the back of Marco's cape for support.

 

That only made the vampire boy laugh, but he wasn't mean about it. Marco allowed him to rock his hips against him, and because of the light fabric that was made out of Jean's robe, his fully erect member was visible against the blackness of Marco's pants. And the only reason why he didn't blush like an idiot was because of Marco's equally hard dick. He wondered for a quick second if he'd also been have crude thoughts about him before they'd gone outside.

 

"Si-Sit," Jean stuttered, feeling his knees go weak when one of Marco's hands squeezed his buttocks.

 

The other did what he was told, grinning at him as he undid his cape and laid it on the dirt. Jean would've praised him for the gesture, but he was too horny to talk. When Marco was comfortably seated and resting his back against the earth of the hill, Jean hiked up his white dress and sat right on his lap with either leg straddling him. He wrapped his arms around that freckled neck, going back to wet kisses and needy gyrations.

 

He could feel his heart pounding crazily in his chest as Marco slipped his cold hands underneath his robe, ghosting over his skin to then trace circles in his inner thigh with his thumbs. Jean stopped rubbing their clothed erections for a moment, wanting to see what he'd do with those large hands of his. He gave out a shaky breath against Marco's mouth when that hand held onto his dick, brushing over the head that was already moist against his boxers.

 

Jean returned the favor by backing up to undo the buttons on his pants, fumbling with shaking hands because of the cold air. Marco hoisted up his hips to allow his clothes to be shoved lower and Jean wasted no time in finding and removing his cock from the safety of his boxer-briefs and marveling at his girth. He noticed how it was about the only warm part of his body.

 

"Your turn," Marco breathed, throwing the fabric of Jean's costume behind him so his pale legs were completely exposed.

 

He shivered at the lost heat, but was soon distracted by the tearing noises from below. He looked down to find his underwear had been easily ripped apart, feeling a bit embarrassed that his clothes were that cheap, but Marco didn't look like the type to care about small things like that. He was more amazed at how his dark eyes were finally shining in the darkness, sending a wave of exhilaration down his crotch.

 

Jean re-positioned himself, grabbing hold of their cocks and rubbing them together. He couldn't help the whiny moan leaving his swollen lips as their precum mixed with one another. Marco held his bony hips with one hand, using the other to insert a finger into Jean's open mouth. He liked the way Marco didn't waste any time showing him what he wanted, so he sucked and swirled his tongue around it and wished it could've been his thick dick instead.

 

When Marco was satisfied with the amount of saliva coating his finger, he pulled it out and went back to putting his attention to Jean's backside. He massaged his entrance, using that same circular motion like he did on his thighs. Jean could feel himself twitching from everywhere, not knowing where he wanted the most stimulation, but Marco quickly made him decide.

 

"Mmm," Jean groaned as he felt a finger sliding inside of him, his hips stuttering against Marco.

 

He pulled Jean into another hungry kiss, keeping him in place as his finger pumped in and out of him. Jean's hands were still holding onto their cocks, so while his ass was being played with, he started jacking Marco off painfully slow. That earned him a low growl and a quick second finger - not that it was much a punishment. Mix pleasure with pain and you get a new and stronger form of satisfaction.

 

"I want more, give me more," Jean begged, all shame had gone out of his body the second they'd first kissed. He felt he greatly deserved this.

 

Marco gazed up at him, lips glistening with saliva and dimples on full display with an innocent smile. He didn't allow Jean to look anywhere but those black eyes as he brought a palm up to Jean's mouth and said, "Spit."

 

Jean obeyed, admiring the face across from his as he waited for Marco to finish lathering his dick with his saliva. He watched him close his eyes and sigh at the feeling, then felt hands on his hips again to move him up higher. Marco rubbed the head of his cock against his awaiting entrance, teasing him to an unbearable but short amount of time before finally inserting.

 

"Ahh," Jean moaned, feeling himself getting filled. There was something about the way it burned that made him needy for more.

 

Finally it wasn't a toy, finally it wasn't a sorry piece of shit using him for the night. No, this time what was fucking him actually _wanted_ him. The hands holding him tight wanted him, the lust in those eyes burning into his own wanted him, those lips telling him how mouthwatering he looked wanted him. And Jean showed how much he wanted Marco in return by repeatedly bouncing on his cock like he's never done anyone else before.

 

He could feel himself losing touch of reality. His friends, the party and the town didn't exist anymore. It was just him and Marco and their squelching noises that only mattered. He didn't bother trying to muffle his cries of pleasure either, especially when he felt the front of his robe being pulled down, followed by a tongue whirling around one of his nipples.

 

Jean rocked faster on top of him, grabbing fistfuls of wavy hair that seemed glued to his chest. Marco nipped and bit at his flesh, arms moving to his back to grip and fondle his ass while his tongue crazily flicked at his nipple.

 

He could smell Marco's sweet shampoo after each and every one of his erratic movements. The burning had quickly disappeared now that he was happily impaling himself on the other boy, feeling he could just melt right on top of him. He really wouldn't mind if Marco drank him either.

 

But almost as quickly as they had started, Marco forced him to stop moving, hands holding him tight in place. When he noticed Jean's displeasure he laughed and grabbed him by the waist, flipping them so Marco hovered from above.

 

"Turn around, lay on your stomach," Marco whispered, panting just as hard as Jean, but only one of them were sweating.

 

Understanding what he was about to do, Jean moaned as he unscrewed himself from Marco. His dress was beginning to get on his nerves, so he threw it off and at the same time got on his knees, ass fully exposed to the kind and oh-so generous stranger. It didn't take long before he felt the warmth of Marco's mouth licking his balls from behind, leaving a trail of cold saliva as he made his way up to his butt. Jean let out a cry of pain as his left cheek was getting bitten into.

 

Marco's tongue soothingly licked over the bite before he quickly kneeled up and positioned himself behind Jean, ramming himself inside now that he'd been stretched. He paid no mind to Jean's pleasured wailing, snapping his hips into the other's prostate and loving the curve of his bare back shaking.

 

"So pretty, so pretty," He sang, the tone of his voice husky and low.

 

Jean's head was grounded on the floor, protected by the silk cape. His hands needed something to hold on to, but there was nothing but grass and dirt around them. All he could do was keep his legs nice and wide for Marco, curling and uncurling his toes at the intensity he was making him feel.

 

Jean started feeling a familiar pressure building deep down in his gut, growing stronger and far too quickly than he would've liked. He didn't want to stop what they were doing, but with the way Marco was taking him he knew he was seconds from spilling all over his already fucked up cape.

 

In an attempt to make them both come at the same time, Jean reached underneath himself and found Marco's sack slapping against him. He felt his hole twitch at the sight, almost losing focus at his objective, but then grabbed hold of his balls and massaged them in his hand, never tearing his eyes away as he watched himself being fucked from behind.

 

"It's like you're _swallowing_ me, Jean" Marco hissed, hips losing its rhythm for a second.

 

"I'm about to," Jean struggled to breathe, "I'm, _ah_ , I'm so close."

 

Marco moaned at the gentle squeeze Jean gave him from below. His balls tightened after a few more thrusts, and Jean knew they were both passed their limit now. But that didn't stop Marco from swiftly grabbing Jean's aching cock and pumping it a couple times, rubbing underneath the head with his thumb.

 

With a loud cry of his name and tingling shooting down his legs and feet, Jean came all over the cape. Each euphoric-filled spasm leaving his dick made his limbs feel like jelly. He was so caught up in his orgasm that he had almost missed the way Marco reached down and place a kiss at the back of his neck, releasing his own seed inside of him while still slamming their bodies together.

 

When he was done, Jean collapsed on the floor with a thud. He felt weak and so sleepy now, but this wasn't a good place to pass out. Hell, this wasn't a good place to fuck like animals either, but now reason was coming to his _other_ head.

 

He waited until Marco removed himself, missing the feeling already and not caring about the semen beginning to leak out before thinking of something to say. It was hard, though, because Marco remained silently hovering above him.

 

"Marco?"

 

"I'm sorry, Jean."

 

"Sorry for what?" He turned around, confused and alarmed that maybe this guy was about to reveal that he was fucking married and not allow him to enjoy his post sex orgasm, but then stopped dead in his tracks. There was blood dripping down from the corners of his mouth, "H-Hey, what happened? Are you alright?"

 

"I didn't mean to take so much."

 

"What are you talking about?" Jean twisted around, ignoring how sore he was beginning to feel, but he didn't have the strength to fully sit up. He extended a shaky hand out towards Marco to wipe off the blood, but then caught sight of red smeared across his own skin. He followed the trail that lead to his chest where he'd first been kissed on the collar bone then to the red covered nipple on the other side, "What.. what did you _do_?"

 

"Don't be scared, you'll be fine. I promise you'll be fine, but I think we should go now."

 

Marco stood up, zipping his pants and patting away any dirt on his clothes. But Jean wasn't listening anymore. His head was feeling light, vision blurring and going out of focus. He could make out the blood covering his left leg and feeling of warm liquid trickling down his spine.

 

Too weak to move, Jean was helpless against the way Marco wrapped him up on the dirty cape, holding him like a bride as he started heading towards the never ending cornfield.

 

"Where... where the fuck are you... taking... ?"

 

Marco smiled down at him, those black eyes showed a hazy and hollow reflection of the horror Jean felt, "My house. The one at 108th street."


	2. A Seed Planted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta admit, I've done The Most™ with this one-shot. I went a little crazy with the story, so I hope I confuse you guys for now. I'll be updating small chapters every other day. Last day will be on Halloween >:D

“ _NO_!”

 

Jean awoke with a start. He was drenched in sweat, painfully swallowing gallons of air into his lungs as he flew up from his bed. His trembling hands clutched onto damp sheets, knuckles going unnaturally white, stomach flipping with nausea and eyes madly roaming his surroundings to get a hold of reality.

 

He was home – in his blackened apartment bedroom, on his rickety bed, safe and sound. Whatever nightmare he had had was now gone, but it still loomed around in the air like a ghost waiting for him to find comfort before jumping out from under his bed to scare him half dead. Like many other dreams, Jean couldn't remember what this one had been about. All he could do was try to shake the nightmare off his bones.

 

The party must've taken a turn for the better if he had no idea how he'd even ended up back home in the first place. Someone had changed him into his pajamas and willingly tucked him into bed. But if he had to guess, though, he'd say it was his roommate who'd came to his rescue.

 

Speaking of whom, his deep and grave voice could be heard outside in the living room. It sounded like if he were on the phone, trying to calm someone down as the octaves raised then lowered, then hushed and monologued with warmth. Whatever lightheartedness he usually had was gone.

 

Jean stood up and almost instantly fell over. His legs were so sore – no – his _entire_ body was sore. Had someone slipped him something? Had he drank too much, climbed up on a roof and stupidly jumped off to prove a point? Had he been involved in a forbidden orgy?

 

He hated not remembering, but things like that happened often. Not really to him, but it happened. He decided to leave that thought for a later worry.

 

Taking slow strides to the door, he felt like he'd aged about thirty years. His bones cracked louder than the door when he opened it just a sliver of an inch. The hallway was covered in darkness, but the lamps in the living were on as well as the blue glow of their kitchen lights staining the carpet.

 

“Ymir, for the hundredth time, _she's not here_. Why would I be hiding her? … OK, that was one time. And I had no choice. She came crying after you guys fought and what was I supposed to do? Shut the door on her face?”

 

Jean could see Reiner pacing back and forth, back and forth with his phone against his tiny ear. He looked tired, about ready to drop dead and sleep for an entire year. His hair was a twisted mess and he was scrubbing at it with whatever Ymir was saying on the other line. His clothes and eyes were wrinkled and stained, it was as if he hadn't changed or showered in over a week.

 

A better part of Jean, mainly his nosy curiosity, got him wondering what had happened with his friend's friend. He looked back at his alarm clock seated on top of his cluttered night stand. It wasn't hard to find the smoldering red numbers in the night, telling him it was well over two in the morning.

 

Hm. It was a shame he left the party so early.

 

Jean was quiet when he walked out. His door cried high-pitched and dry, but Reiner was too preoccupied with drama to hear it. He lingered by the entry way of the hallway and living room and continued to listen and watch. He contemplated on whether or not he should take a seat at their small dining room table, but decided against it since his butt was also really hurting.

 

Reiner couldn't spot him hidden in the shadows yet and continued arguing with Ymir, “I wouldn't hide her here! You think I'd really make you go through all of this – make _myself_ go through all of this – just because you two are having problems again? It's none of my business … Christa is still missing. She's not fucking here.”

 

_Still missing?_

 

Groggy and still a bit disoriented, Jean waved to catch Reiner's attention. He wasn't that close to his roommate, but they were cool enough to tell one another their problems without needing any sort of comfort or actual help. They used each other to vent more than anything.

 

When Reiner caught sight of him, he nearly jumped out of his skin, “Holy ... ! _Jean_?”

 

“Yeah, hey, what's goin' on?”

 

His beefy hand holding the phone slumped down to his side. His bruised eyes squinted in disbelief, studying Jean from top to bottom before deciding he was real, “You tell me! Where the hell have you been for the past three days, man? We were getting worried about you! Were you with Krista?”

 

“Past three … wasn't the party tonight?”

 

“No?”

 

“Shit,” Jean rubbed the back of his head and took a step into the room, “Did I get drugged? I don't remember _anything_. I thought someone had called you to take me home.”

 

“No, no one called. Actually, I never even heard you come in. How did—“

 

_”Reiner? Reiner! What the fuck, did you hang up on me?!”_

 

He snapped the phone back to his ear, hope twinkled in those blue and saggy eyes, “Hey, hey, Jean's back … yeah, he's right here in front of me, so maybe Krista will turn up soon, too … No, they weren't.”

 

Bored with the lover's crisis, Jean headed to the kitchen. The linoleum floors stung his bare feet, but socks were an inconvenience to him – even during winter, he hated wearing them. He searched around to find anything remotely appetizing as his skin grew accustomed to the cold, but the best thing he could find was a dead roach near the sink and rotten fruit in their fruit bowl.

 

He tried the fridge, opening it with a prayer as he heard the annoying buzzing from the lights inside welcoming him home. It smelled like fish and spilled juice, despite not ever having fish, and juice was a prize they got when pay day rolled around. However, he did manage to spot a carton of lonely eggs in one of their empty vegetable drawers.

 

He pulled it out, not really sure if he should eat when he felt like he was in the process of recovering from such a questionable hangover, but set it down on the counter anyways. He fished out a pan from a bottom cabinet and searched for the oil and salt in their small pantry.

 

Without waiting for the pan to properly heat up, Jean moved to open the box of eggs after getting his supplies ready. There were only three inside, but that was more than enough for his not-so-sure appetite. He just needed something in his system to make him feel better about not having any idea if he'd eaten these past three unknown days.

 

“Oh, gross.” He hissed.

 

The egg he had cracked was a watery one. He really hated those. How did that even happen? But upon further inspection, he noticed that wasn't the only disgusting thing about it. He leaned in a little closer, feeling the heat of the stove and seeing it turn the transparent egg visible around the edges. There, on the sickly yellow yolk, was a droplet of blood.

 

Jean rode on a wave of nausea before throwing up all over the kitchen floor.


	3. Good Weather For Growing

The next day, after being unable to get proper sleep for the remainder of the night, Jean went out to the grocery store at nine in the morning. It was the nearest to their apartment and it just so happened to be the one he worked in as a shelf loader. He also wished the place would burn down to the ground even if it meant he'd have to drive an extra fifteen minutes to the nearest supermarket.

 

He despised working there for normal reasons, like not having enough hours but having a good pay and then getting _too_ many hours with his pay getting coincidentally cut, dealing with customers, having to do jobs that weren't in his area when coworkers decided not to show up, missing work when he got trashed and having to face the consequences when he came back on schedule. Inconveniences like that.

 

But his bitterness towards the store was especially strong today, enough for him to dress himself in an over-sized sweater with a hoodie over his frazzled head so no one could recognize him. He really counted on it to work, because he didn't think he would be able to mask any of his irritation and disdain if he saw someone important, like his boss.

 

Jean kept his head low as he grabbed a cart by the entrance sliding doors. The reason why he was in such a foul mood – more than usual – was because of the lack of sleep he'd gotten. He felt terrible, if not worse, than hours earlier after puking. His head and body still ached, he felt bruises where there were none and sitting down was still a challenge. He was beginning to feel like he really had jumped off of a house.

 

No one he'd recognized at the party had responded to any of the messages he'd sent them so far. That didn't come to much of surprise, he wasn't that close with them in the first place. But he would still wait for an answer – how ever long it took.

 

The lights in the dairy section made his temples feel like they were being drilled with needles when he made it to the far left of the store. He was determined to get some damned eggs. He'd had to throw the remaining two away after finishing his accident on the floor, completely convinced that the whole box had been rotten. Reiner hadn't been too happy about that since they'd been _his_ , but like a scornful child, Jean had been left with angry craving towards all the eggs on Earth. He'd only agreed he would be the one to buy some more because of that immature goal .

 

After checking to make sure none were cracked or marked with anything suspicious, Jean set down two dozen eggs in his cart. He was about to leave with only those two items before deciding he should roam around the too familiar aisles for anything else they might need back home.

 

He took a heavy sigh, discomfort aching in his chest, and listened to the boring music overhead with resentment as he began to scour the area. If someone could peek inside his pocket, and inside his wallet, they'd see a sad twenty-dollar bill trying to stretch itself along with a handful of coins clinking in the back of his jeans.

 

The change felt heavy like his lids. They hadn't stopped drooping since he stepped foot outside the apartment, and the oldies music playing overhead wasn't doing anything to help the drowsiness. Jean lugged his feet as slowly as he pleased, never noticing the older customers trotting past him when he crowded the middle of the halls or paused to scratch his itchy eyes.

 

Without leaving the uncertainty of his disturbed mind, he went around the entire lightly populated store, throwing whatever cold and plastic objects his hands thought they needed in the car. One of the wheels, the front-right to be exact, kept squeaking like a rat being stepped on as he weaved into the canned goods section. He would've kicked it if he wasn't so sore. Everything felt so sore.

 

“Oh!”

 

His useless cart crashed against someone else's. _Perfect_ , he thought, _what a great way to strike up casual conversation with someone you probably already know!_ He cursed at his luck, deciding that plucking every hair on his entire body would've been better than this.

 

He looked up to see a girl. She did look familiar, but not as familiar as the other residents in the grocery store. She had dark red hair up in a careless ponytail, eyebrows the same color but thinner than his patience, and her skin was grossly pale-gray. It was as if she avoided the sun like the plague and refused to eat her vegetables or sleep at a reasonable hour. Not that he was one to talk.

 

She looked about his age, but he wasn't really sure. Her neon clothes screamed she was trying too hard to look young, and the heavy make up on her face was throwing him off, but he was more concerned about when and where they'd met. Not _if_. He would've remembered her if she were a frequent customer here, but she wasn't. And he knew he _had_ seen her, he just knew it.

 

She smiled at him with dark and dry maroon lips, “Wow, I am _so_ sorry! I did not see you there!”

 

He said nothing, looking down at their carts to see it had actually been his fault. She'd been safely off to the side inspecting two cans of corn in her hands when his reckless sight had slammed into her. Jean let her take the blame for it and started backing away.

 

“'S alright,” He mumbled, beginning to head forwards, but she peered down at his cart with quick and sharp eyes, grinning even wider and stopping him in his tracks.

 

Jean glared at her, offended that she was so shamelessly ogling at his items with an amused face like if she'd just caught him trying to hide a vibrator underneath all his things. He didn't think there was anything important or personal like that in his car, but wasn't it like a rule to not stare at what other people bought? He would say yes. And it made him feel exposed and bothered that she probably wouldn't.

 

This strange girl only seemed to know how to smile because the corners of her mouth kept stretching wider, revealing the hygiene of her damaged teeth, “Yum, _iron_! Make sure to cook the bones, it's what gives the meat flavor!”

 

Instead of him retreating, she was the one who started walking away. There was a bounce to her step that made her ponytail dance like a dying worm, and before she disappeared around the corner, she leaked out a hideously loud and frightening laugh, making the hair on Jean's neck stand on end.

 

He looked down to find that his cart had been filled with steak, ground beef, pig feet, two whole chickens and lamb. The blood behind the secured plastic wrap oozed inside like if it had veins, like if the animal inside was still fighting to stay alive. He felt as if he could even smell its will, its torture, its _rawness_ trying to break through with dead, snarling fangs.

 

Jean went to an empty aisle, leaving the cart there and took only the eggs.


	4. Watered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's butt eats meat

At night, Jean fell into the grasp of another dream. This one was completely different than the ambiguous nightmare still following him around.

 

Here, he was in a house that smelled of moist soil, wood and cold air. He was on a silk sheet bed, laying on his back, entirely naked. But for some reason, he felt no embarrassment or fear, it was almost a natural feeling. And everything – absolutely everything – was covered in a blanket of darkness.

 

Nothing was spared from the black, not him and not the cold finger of an unknown – man? Woman? – touching him along his collar bone. Jean tried to speak, but nothing came out. He laid still as a sharp nail ran down to his stomach, slow and restraining. It left a tingling sensation where it touched, almost like if their nail was a knife and they were cutting him open.

 

The stranger left for a split second, then returned as a whole hand. Then two hands. And because he wasn't able to see not even a spec of light, he felt _everything_ – the hidden eyes watching him, their breath on his warm stomach, their caresses lingering on his skin.

 

Jean felt himself move without thinking, like if he were a mere puppet that could only watch as a third party. He pulled himself up onto his knees, using his blind arms to search for more than hands. Eventually he found a neck, and with yearning, he latched himself onto them and noticed they, too, were completely naked. No, not _they_. He.

 

During this realization, the man had leaned down to softly place a kiss on Jean's chapped lips. They were unsure at first, almost a bit shy, but when Jean kissed him back that smile faded and pulled him in deeper. His head tilted, Jean following in the opposite direction as vigorous hands snaked down to fondle his backside.

 

Their lips smacking in the the room sounded too loud in his ears, but he liked it. They both did. Jean wanted to tell him, “Do something to me, touch me more.” but nothing would come out. Instead he resorted to flushing his hips against the corpse of a man to show how much he wanted him.

 

The stranger gave Jean a mild bite to the top of his lip before letting go – he'd received the message loud and clear. He lead Jean back on the mattress and crawled on all fours until he was hovering over him.

 

There was a pause and muffled noises started coming from above him. Was he speaking? Jean didn't really care. He could feel the weight of their muscles as the man bent down to place kisses on his neck, his sternum, his belly, a hip bone – their speech would start up again when they transitioned from one body part to another. He even spoke when he was inches from Jean's arousal, but then there was nothing as he swallowed him whole.

 

“ _Mm!_ ”

 

Jean's hands grasped at the soft blankets as the man savored him. His tongue was flat underneath his penis, but when he bobbed back up from the base of his curls, it hardened to tease the slit of his head. Jean felt him slurp, he felt his cheeks hallow and drink and hum along with his whimpers.

 

As the stranger sucked at his skin, their fingers started rubbing moist circles against Jean's hole. He tried to talk, to beg or cry that this was enough – that he was already ready for more – but it was all in vain. He could only continue to grunt and whine, and when the first finger slid in, he figured that was all he could probably be able to do anyway.

 

His toes curled and his back arched. Jean reached down to tangle a hand on the back of the man's head. Their hair was so soft, and with the way they were desperately moving on him, he could tell they smelled good too. Jean placed both hands on their head now, thrusting his hips forward and hitting the back of their throat.

 

Now two fingers. He froze to relish the feeling of the man's scissoring for a split second, groaning before he resumed his faltering thrashes. He was getting close already, but he couldn't come, not yet – not when they were just getting started.

 

“ … ean.”

 

He could hear them saying something, but it wasn't registering in the slightest. He was drowning in bliss, losing himself in it until all the touching abruptly stopped. The hand that'd been gripping his thigh was gone, the plump lips around his cock gone, the fingers inside of him gone, gone, gone.

 

In the darkness, Jean tried looking for someone – anyone, but he couldn't even tell if his eyes were opened or closed. The blackness was so thick that it was impossible to sense the presence of another human being. When he felt the start of terror clawing its way though his intestines, the head of the man's penis shoved deeply inside of his hole with controlled fervor.

 

“Ngh!”

 

Jean spread his legs and put a hand over his own mouth to _try_ and restrain his declaration of lust. He frantically squirmed until he was able to bring his pelvis upwards at the exact same time the man plunged inside his canal. It burned with pain, but before long it started manifesting itself into something Jean could easily impale himself onto, killing away any thoughts he'd barely formed.

 

_More_

 

The stranger placed Jean's legs over his shoulders, inching closer and causing his erection to bury itself deeper within his walls. Jean helped by holding the back of his thighs as the other shifted their torso forward, placing their arms on either side of his face. Their breath felt cold on his skin, but Jean inhaled it and decided that if he were to break in half by the vigorous thrusts of the stranger, it'd be an amazing way to go.

 

_Harder_

 

Hands pressed him down by the shoulders, their nails dug into his skin as their sack slapped against Jean's ass with their quickening pace. Jean's penis bounced against his trembling body, staining him with webs of syrupy precum. He held onto the man's wrists as the heat in his belly began to bloom, wishing he could see who's penis he was swallowing so enthusiastically.

 

The stranger turned his powerful strokes into slower paces, every inch of passion and need still present. He leaned down to plant a small kiss on the tip of Jean's nose. The gesture surprised him, more so than getting his ass filled without any warning, but then they went back to that same hunger just as quickly as they'd stopped.

 

Jean felt their lips crash onto his now, bending him even further as they licked and bit him in between their own. Jean moaned into their mouth and cupped their face to keep them there longer, then cried with protest when the man pulled away.

 

A foggy laugh filled the empty air as he rolled them over. With his hands now on Jean's hips, the man painfully tightened his grip. Jean was lifted with ease, his quivering knees rested on either side of their pelvis before he was brought back down. Jean wailed at the change in position, feeling the cock buried inside of him grow.

 

With rubber hands pressing down on the stranger's belly, Jean started rocking on his own. He knew then that' he'd done this with them before. He could feel it in his heavy heart as the muffled voice below him became understandable – like if there was a channel that connected only his words to the cotton in Jean's ears.

 

“ … so beautiful. You look so beautiful like this.”

 

Jean's eyes rolled to the back of his head. His mouth opened, but to his ears there was no sound. He was screaming, he could feel it in the roughness vibrating in his dry throat. The man continued to shower him in adoration, all the while abusing his ass hole with one unyielding thrust after the other.

 

“Come now,” He breathed, straightening up to sink his teeth onto Jean's chest.

 

It was too much, all of it – the blinding dark, the velvet voice echoing in his head, the mold they had created with their bodies – just too much.

 

The next couple of bucks from Jean's hips had him spurting into the air. He thrashed his head back and felt the man release himself inside of him, sending a tremor down his spine and throughout his gratified body.

 

When Jean collapsed onto their chest the man didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around him. They made no move, or had any intentions, to speak or disconnect. Jean remained motionless as the man stroked the back of a hand against his rib cage. They were smooth and it tickled his skin with how careful he was being. After another minute, the stranger leaned in real close and kissed his jaw.

 

“Wake up, Jean.” He said. And he did.


	5. Almost Made It

The blankets were wet with cum when Jean cracked his eyes open in his dark bedroom. He felt cold sweat soaking through his pajama shirt and _other_ liquids around his crotch, it was smelly with dank. When the memory of his dream replayed in his head, Jean's cheeks furiously burned. He got up, stripped and threw the blankets on the floor. This hadn't happened to him since he was in middle school.

 

He rummaged for fresh clothes in the moonlight, heading to the bathroom when he found whatever felt softest. He showered for a short while, the sound of the water plummeting on the bathtub floor caused him to have a horrible headache. When he was done he carried his aching legs over to the rectangular mirror, unfogging it with the palm of his hand. He looked brutal.

 

His face had thinned from lack of eating, causing his skin to look more ashen than before he started puking everything he ate. The thin darkness under his eyes had spread to the top. His eyeballs looked sunken in – purple on his lids with pink veins highly visible. There was no energy in him to give a reaction at the face staring back at him in the mirror, because new parts of his body were hurting.

 

Jean looked down at his hips and noticed green bruises on either side of his bones with red and yellow accompanying it, “Are you fuckin' serious right now?” Jean asked the empty bathroom. He couldn't believe he'd done this to himself during a wet dream. But to be fair, it had felt as real as the water dripping from his hair – even his asshole hurt.

 

Back in his room freshly changed, he kicked the dirty sheets at a corner and flopped on the bed. He craned his neck to check what ungodly hour he'd waken up this time. It was four in the morning. Jean stayed still in his blackened room, on his chilly mattress, but didn't try to fall back asleep. He had work at seven and saw no point to it.

 

Easily bored, he moaned with pain to his feet and headed out of the room. The apartment wasn't as quiet as he thought it'd be. He could hear Reiner's snores through the wall separating them, he could even hear the way his mouth wobbled and waved with his heavy breathing.

 

Jean made his way into the kitchen, figuring he should eat _something_ to make the time pass. The fridge reeked of milk and spoiled vegetables when he opened it, a totally different smell from before. He ignored the queasiness in his belly and pulled out one of the egg cartons he'd bought. It felt much lighter than what he hoped was in there.

 

When he revealed the contents inside, warm anger flushed along his chest. There was only one egg looking back at him – the rest were cracked and empty. And when he searched for the second carton, there was no trace of it left behind. Jean shut the fridge, egg in hand, and looked around.

 

Next to their fruit bowl, he found three enormous cakes. He didn't have to guess who they were for, he'd heard Reiner mention something about throwing a party when Krista decided to return (whenever that'd be) earlier in the day, but three cakes? That was fucking ridiculous. He didn't care if the guy _did_ have a large group of friends.

 

Since he had no one to yell at the moment, Jean allowed his rage to noiselessly sizzle over his flushed skin. However, when he got back from work, Reiner better believe he'll be using it against him. Just what in the hell had he done with the other dozen eggs? Or was this some sort of revenge for disposing of his infected ones?

 

Jean took in a deep breath and pulled out a skillet, gathered his oil and salt, and turned on the stove to calm himself over the one egg he _did_ have. He didn't wait for the pan to heat up, cracking the shell like how his patience wanted to.

 

“No. Fucking. Way.”

 

On the busted yolk covering the metal, there was a small red vein the size of a newborns fingernail.

 

* * * * *

 

At work, Jean found himself yawning every five minutes. His mind was distracted, tired and annoyed for just being there. He'd felt his mood rot even further when his manager had warned him to at least call when he decided to skip work again. Jean didn't know what he'd meant by that, he hadn't been scheduled yesterday or the day before or the day before _that_. It didn't matter.

 

It was the middle of the week, two in the afternoon with barely a soul in the grocery store. All that he cared about was praying time would fly by quicker than his motivation to quit his job. But restocking items in the baking aisle wasn't so bad. It definitely beat being Reiner who – for some crazy reason – went to college to break his head every night fighting math equations, worked as a taxi driver and busboy, and also juggled a long term relationship with a boyfriend and friends.

 

The static through the intercom pulled him out of his jealousy, it was playing another one of those slow-tempo oldies songs. The Righteous Brothers and The Raveonettes were to blame for causing him to lose his mind during his meat grabbing yesterday. And now it was trying to do the same. Jean leaned against his kingdom of boxes, fingering the plastic of a marshmallow bag as he heard the squeak of a cart closing in.

 

He straightened up, because heaven forbid a customer caught him slacking off. But that wasn't the worst that could even happen. According to his boss, the _least_ damage he could cause was having some sweet old lady finding him napping at work and forever associating his face with a lazy business. _But wait, but that's not all!_ She'd then tell her crusty friends what bad services they had here and _her_ crusty old friends would spread the news like wildfire to _more_ moldy raisins.

 

So, the least damage Jean could possibly do was make the grocery store lose thousands of dollars because someone saw him tired. He internally groaned and faced the direction of the cart with a smile ready on his face, but there was no one there. There was only the view of the chips and pretzels staring back at him from beyond. The squeak then came from the opposite direction.

 

Jean swallowed as he whirled around to face … nothing. His eyes scanned for anyone crossing the hallway he was currently right in the middle of, but the only sound available was the music overhead. The hairs on his arms stood as the wheels suddenly cried from behind him.

 

“Shit!” Jean hissed when he faced the original direction the noise had came from. There was a customer standing right next to his boxes with an empty cart.

 

The guy had an amused smile plastered on his face that he wasn't even trying to hide. He was layered in thick sweaters – at least three of them – and had a colorful scarf tightly wrapped around his neck. His gray sweatpants were much too big for his short body, and the orange beanie on his head quickly hurt Jean's eyes.

 

“My bad,” Shorty said, flashing him white teeth, “Didn't mean to startle you, ah … _Jean_.” He squinted at his name tag.

 

“Can I help you with anythin', sir?” Jean asked, ignoring the use of his name.

 

“Yes, please. I was wondering if I could get your opinion on a certain product? I'm tired of eating the same old things and want to try something new.”

 

“Sure. Just lead the way,” He said with a tight nod, following the short boy soon after.

 

Jean spotted a mother with her child disappearing into the international aisle as they crossed. Their hushed voices vanished just as fast as the boys walked passed more aisles. Other than them, he didn't see or hear anyone else around from their passage to the dairy section.

 

The short boy skipped the yogurt, the cream cheese, the sliced cheese, the cheese strings, the cottage cheese – all the damn cheeses – before landing where the eggs were located. Jean's stomach twisted at the morbid coincidence.

 

The customer pointed a finger to a carton on the top shelf as the other remained on his vacant car, “I've been wondering about this thing. Are the scrambled eggs in there any good? It looked kind of gross in the commercial, but this way I don't have to beat my own.”

 

“Oh, no, they're _great_ ,” He had never tasted them before, “They're the real thing. Taste totally normal – maybe even better.”

 

“Wow, really?” Shorty grabbed one off the cool rack, grinning as his eyes popped with a reminder, “Hey, have you ever heard of the rooster that was executed for laying an egg?”

 

“I'm sorry?”

 

He giggled, “It's true. It happened a long, long time ago. Way before our time. Peasants of some long dead town tried a rooster in court for laying an egg and then had him killed. Isn't that funny? But it hadn't actually been a rooster. It was a chicken _passing_ as a rooster. Nope, not a rooster.”

 

Jean didn't know what to make of his nonsense. Instead of calling him a wacko like how he wanted to, he smiled and said, “Interesting. Well, I should be getting back to work now. If you need help with anything else don't hesitate to ask.”

 

_Please hesitate._

 

“Oh, I'll keep that in mind,” The guy chuckled again.

 

“Alrighty then. Have a good day.”

 

When Jean started pacing back to his station, he felt eyes following his back. Ever since he'd came back from … wherever the hell he'd been for three days, there has been uneasiness and uncontrolled aggravation nipping at his skin. He didn't enjoy being paranoid, but as the stranger called out to him, he felt fear lick along his frigid limbs.

 

“Jean!” They yelled, waving at him when he turned around, “There's nothing wrong with pretending you're a rooster!”


	6. Shrivilling

By the time Jean arrived back home, the sun had already been down for over three hours. The lights in the living room were all on like how he'd left them for Reiner. Jean thought, since they were the last to go, that his roommate would've remembered to turn them off. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that they wouldn't be able to pay the electric bill when it came rolling around.

 

Another stress on top of his brittle shoulders. He sighed and removed his jacket, throwing it over the couch and listened for any signs that Reiner was home. He could see light spilling out of their closed bedroom door, but there was no sound. Only silence ringing in his ears like a mosquito's unfortunate wings. 

 

His usual music wasn't playing either, the television wasn't on to indicate he was in the restroom, and not even the old pipelines were rattling behind the plaster. But Jean knew very well that on the other side of that door was the man who had spitefully used up every single one of his eggs. He could just feel him waiting.

 

If work hadn't been as bad as it had – with him continuously looking over his shoulder, getting threatened by his manager that he'd be fired for spacing out so much and feeling so damn useless the entire time – maybe he would've let it go.

 

But it hadn't, so Jean found himself drowning in hot adrenaline and anger once again. He stomped his feet like a child as he went to go confront his roommate, making his steps especially loud so he'd be able to hear him coming and ready whatever pathetic excuses he had. He knew it was wrong of him spill his frustrations onto a bystander, but he couldn't care less at this point.

 

“Rei!” Jean banged on his door. Really, the _nerve_ of some people. He'd had to starve last night because of him and he never even once _thanked_ him for buying so many eggs to make up for the three he wasted, “Rei, open up! I want to talk to you!”

 

There was no response.

 

“I know you're fuckin' in there, your lights are on! And for how long did you leave the lamps on? Do you have any idea how high the electric bill is going to be? You know we can barely afford to eat!”

 

He kicked at the door with intention, to show he was seriously pissed off for being ignored. But still, nothing happened. The bed didn't creak with his weight lifting, there wasn't an exasperated sigh through the wood, there was no shuffle of big feet heading to meet him. There was only more silence and Jean's strained breathing.

 

He grasped the knob with stiff fingers, it was his last resort to getting a response or reaction from Reiner. Jean could've opened it easily without any shame in his intrusiveness - no problem, but then he stopped dead in his tracks. Something was off. He didn't know _what_ exactly, but his skin suddenly prickled with goosebumps and his body hardened with what he couldn't see. He was blind, but his senses could taste the menace trickling from underneath the slit of the door - he could almost see it oozing out, trying to grab at his shoes and force him under.

 

Jean took a step back and retrieved his clammy hand. Whatever was in that room, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

 

_Boom! Boom! Boom!_

 

Three hurried knocks at the front door sent Jean flying backwards. He hit the wall behind him with bulging eyes. Sweat was beginning to form above his lip and at the back of his neck where it felt like fingers were hovering a few millimeters away.

 

“W-Who is it?” Jean cried, hoping to God it was Reiner.

 

_Boom! Boom! Boom!_

 

“Go away!”

 

A smothered voice yelled from outside, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. Jean bolted into the kitchen and grabbed the widest and longest knife they had. With trembling legs, he paced to the front door, getting on his tiptoes to look through the peephole. It wasn't Reiner on the other end. It was his friend, Ymir.

 

He opened the door for her, panic still rooted in his stiff figure as she ran in without saying a word.

 

“What're you doin' here?” Jean asked, voice shrill.

 

“I didn't know where else to go. God, I'm so fucking tired,” She surprised him with a loud sob, “Krista – it's been over a week since she's been missing and I've talked to all her friends already but they don't know anything! I'm running out of places to look, so if you see or hear from her, you _have_ to tell me. Just tell me, please, I don't know if she's OK.”

 

Jean knew her well enough to know crying wasn't her thing. He was uncomfortable just by watching her, causing him to refuse to close the door. He wanted her out, “I can't help you. Call the cops.”

 

“I already have! That's the first thing I did!”

 

“Then why are you tellin' me all this? I'm not friends with you people. I barely saw her around when she _was_ here!”

 

“Watch your mouth! And I've already told you, this is the last place I could think of coming! I've hit dead ends everywhere else, and fuck the police, they're not getting anywhere!”

 

Hate nestled into his blood, “Look, why don't you just t-talk to Reiner or something? Leave me out of it, this is none of my business.”

 

Ymir shot him a puzzled look. Her dark brows furrowed as she wiped away the tears running down her cheeks, “Reiner? Reiner has been … it's been two days now since he's contacted _anyone_.”

 

Jean felt blow air down his back, any blood that'd remained on his face drained away like his understanding, “No. No, he's probably just being a bum in-in his room or somethin'. Why do you keep thinking people are missing?”

 

Alarm spread throughout her freckled face – alarm _and_ accusation. Her bloodshot eyes shot down to the silver twinkling in Jean's hand. The knife. He'd forgotten to put it away when she barged in.

 

“Wait, you're not thinking that _I_ had anything to do with it, do you?” He held his hands up to show innocence, but it was too late. Ymir backed away before dashing through the entrance, and just like that, she was gone just as quickly as she'd came.

 

How could Reiner do this to him? How could Ymir think he could've caused a man three times his weight any lethal harm? In fact, Jean was the one who was afraid! He was the one who felt in danger at every damn corner of the world! Even in his own apartment, he could tell something wasn't right. And if he didn't leave right that second, he was petrified that something would happen to him as well. It wasn't the loneliness that scared him, either, it was the million of answers that the _what would happen?_ could be responded with.

 

Jean took one last glance at his roommate's bedroom door. The white painted on it had random chips and tears, just like how it'd been on the first day they'd move in. But somehow, today it appeared like human scratch marks that'd tried to run away. Jean knew then, at that moment, that he'd never step foot into their apartment again.

 

Taking nothing, he left without a sound.

 

The metal staircase didn't sing at his skipping steps, it echoed his noiseless departure along the walls before he landed and headed to his car. The ice in the air couldn't reach him. Jean was doused and protected by the ongoing fear and confusion spilling from all of his pores, leaving a trail as he sped away into the night.

 

Everything had been a blur since the Halloween party. He'd been alive for three days, and absent for heaven knows how many. Something during that time had made him sick. The memory loss, the migraines, the rawness of his skin, the never ending nausea in his quivering gut! When was it going to end?

 

Jean's hands shook around the steering wheel. He didn't know where he was going, but when the traffic lights turned red, he raced to the next lane where it was green. He couldn't stay still, he just couldn't. It allowed too much time for him to break down in a fit of panic at the looming nightmare still following him.

 

In his haste, Jean accidentally turned into a shopping area. It was filled with cars parked outside their only movie theater, polluted with too many awful lights and noises. He could see the normal people getting out of their normal vehicles watching him with black, emotionless eyes. They were all the same. He could tell, they were _taunting_ him.

 

“Leave me alone!”

 

Quickly, he pressed on the gas and screeched away. He took a sharp left and ran down an empty road void of any pedestrians. The library was near, it was settled among busy neighborhoods with families occupying practically every house. Jean felt a pang in his chest thinking of his mother and father. He wished he could run to them and tell them … tell them what exactly?

 

That he had been drugged and had no memory of it? That he was _still_ losing his memory? They'd trusted him to be on his own and he'd trusted himself too, but as he sped beyond the library and onto an unfamiliar road, he knew how dreadfully wrong they'd all been.

 

Trees with bony fingers grabbed for him as he took right at an intersection. It was a narrow road with a high speed limit and no traffic lights, but it wasn't a highway. Jean looked at his rearview mirror to make sure he wasn't being followed, half expecting someone to be sitting in the backseat, but there were only the branches behind him that didn't want to see him go. And he should have listened.

 

If there were too many lights, his head ached. But if there were none, he felt missing - vulnerable. The darkness was worse – much, much worse than the pain. If no one could see him, then that meant no one could help him. No. It was already far too late for that option. He'd pretended everything was alright this entire time when in reality he knew it wasn't. 

 

After the blurs of unaccounted cars flew by and after spotting valley's upon valley's of empty grass, Jean found himself lost with fate's gruesome game again as he saw where he'd ended up. The house at 108th street loomed it's massive shadow over his car, waiting for him with it's black wood and broken windows. It knew he'd be arriving.


	7. Barren

As he rolled his windows down, Jean could smell the damp earth coming to him from a dream. Or to be more exact, a nightmare. He cut the engine of his car and stumbled out without bothering to shut the door. If there was anyone – or anything – around, he didn't want to let them know of his arrival.

 

His feet crunched along dead leaves and sparkling gravel as he cautiously walked along what he guessed was supposed to be a sidewalk. There were tall, wilted grass strands and a high black gated fence separating him and the lake trying to grab his attention. Without having to look, Jean knew it was a large property, but the lake was even bigger.

 

Along with a single oak tree, it took up the majority of the backyard. It curved to the left side of the house only slightly, making it easy for Jean to spot the cattails that looked more like chunks of human flesh along the shore a long ways down. And in the night sky, the water appeared more like inescapable tar.

 

He shivered as he thought of all the made-up stories the town spread to children and visitors. They didn't feel so made up now as he reached the driveway, and especially not when there were two people he knew – or sort of knew – that have been missing for days. Whether all the stories were true or not, one thing was for certain: this house had the answers.

 

Jean stared at the endless driveway before him. It was cracked in several place, heading downwards in a crooked slope. There were armies of weeds growing from the split concrete and many of which still had yellow flowers on top even with the freezing season. In the brightness of the moonlight it was the only color surviving against the dreary house.

 

With his conscious screaming at him to run in the other direction, Jean began to descend with unsteady steps. There were no cars around, no lights, no household tools – nothing to point out someone was living there. He couldn't _hear_ anything, either. The wind wasn't blowing and the grass was so still, lifeless, it was as if time had stopped so he could greet with the monstrosity in front of him.

 

“Cock-a-doodle-do!! _Eur-ah-eur-ah-eur!!”_

Jean shrieked at the rooster call echoing from the decaying roof, then a second time when an ear shattering cackle followed. He screwed his eyes shut and clamped his hands over his ears to block off the horrible sounds. But then, subtle like the wings of a butterfly, he felt someone watching him. 

He was afraid to look, but nonetheless pried his eyes open, and without having to wander he easily found a young man on the porch. He was wearing clothes that blended perfectly into the night, and even in their great distance, Jean could tell he was attractive. But what caught his attention the most out of everything else was the colorlessness on his face and hands. He would've noticed the man immediately if he'd been standing on the porch seconds earlier. 

Their violet lips pulled up into a welcoming smile when Jean didn't look away. He sauntered off of the porch, pulling his hands into his dress pants pockets with familiarity striking his every move. As he drew closer, Jean could make out the specks of freckles on their young face. 

But any safety he could've felt with the man was diminished by the sick holes he had for eyes – vacant and void of any shine. Then, like a blow to his gut, Jean remembered who he was and where he'd seen him before. 

“Hello,” Marco greeted, he was amused, “how are we feeling today, Jean?” 

“W-Where are they? Where's Reiner and Krista?” His voice shook in his ears, “And why'd you take them?” 

“Who did I take?” 

Searing pain pumped against Jean's temples. He whined, struggling to keep his composure, it was taking everything he had. He was so tired, “Don't fucking stand there and pretend you don't know! I know it was you.” 

“But I really _don't_ know, Jean,” He appeared both fascinated and confused, “What is it you know, exactly?” 

“You ki-killed them. You took them – kidnapped them and now they're in your lake. Isn't that right? I'll call – I'll call the cops on you right now if you don't tell me!” 

The smile on Marco's face faded, matching the emptiness in his shallow eyes, “I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't know who these people are. The only person I've been seeing without a fail is _you_ , Jean. No one else.” 

“Me? What do you mean _me_? I— _ah_!” He grimaced at an image forcing itself into his head. It was short, like the flash of a camera, but the red and blond hair branded itself into his skull, “Stop lying! I've only ever met you once! I-It was at a party, you gave me beer and-and you _put_ something in there.” 

“Please, no more pretending. It's time for you to wake up now, don't you think? It can't feel good trying to suppress everything all the time, I know how much it hurts.” 

Marco's voice came out so soothing and innocent, Jean wanted to grasp onto the dejected warmth with every fiber of his withering being and live in it rather than the uneasiness lurking in his shadow. Something in his words caused another throb to nestle into the wrinkles of his brain. 

Jean stared at Marco with terror-stricken eyes. He didn't want to know what'd happened the days he went missing or the days he'd blacked out, his mind was begging him with blood curdling screams to _go home now_ , but Marco encouraged him with a grin, reminding him he had no home. 

This is what Jean saw: 

 

*

Halloween night, after sharing his intimacy with Marco and after losing consciousness over his bleeding wounds, Jean had awoken in the exact same moment he was being brought inside the House. With blurry eyes, he gazed at the rotten wood going over his aching head before entering a dark shed-like room. 

He'd been able to hear Marco's mushy steeps on mud and smell the wet earth filling his nostrils. But he'd also been able to hear lively frogs and crickets outside, so very near. His heavy head had been limp on the others arm, but he was able see the moon's brightness coming from a filthy window with a side glance. It was low and he'd momentarily wondered what time it was. 

As Marco laid his naked body down on a splintering table, Jean's brittle breathing had picked up speed. It hurt his lungs to take in the freezing air, it hurt more to think this was how it was all going to end. 

He tried to lean up, he tried to lift a hand, he tried to throw his leg out of the table, but then he had realized he couldn't even blink anymore. A low and strenuous whine rumbled out of his chest. Marco – either ignoring this or really not listening – left his side to fetch something in the corner. 

Jean heard plastic and glass, he heard a drawer open and happy hums of the other before he came back. Expecting the worst, Jean braced himself for whatever torture this demon was going to perform on him, but rather than meeting face to face with a knife or chains, Marco started cleaning him up. 

He felt sanitation wipes burning on his bite marks. Marco used three, eight, fourteen – more than Jean could count – to make the blood disappear. When he was finished, he patched his wounds and started dressing him in pants much bigger than him and a button up, plaid shirt that did nothing to protect him against the temperature. 

“Jean,” Marco leaned down and kissed his numb forehead, “you're dying.” 

He choked on a sob. Tears prickled in his unblinking eyes because his body knew it to be true. 

“Don't cry, don't cry. Dying once comes with peace, but if you're not ready, you can do it again … I didn't have the heart to finish you myself back there, you can take the choice from my hands now. Do you want to die, Jean?” 

He trembled with hate, he didn't understand why this was happening to him. How could something like this be happening to him? Had he been that bad of a person? 

“If you don't, there's something you should know. I've drained you, unfortunately, almost completely. You're nothing but an empty vessel now with my poison. But it's alright, you can save yourself by simply replacing what I've taken. You can have one person or two … or ten,” He smiled, “You just have to make sure it isn't anyone you know or else things could get complicated.” 

Marco stroked a finger against Jean's arm, “If things do happen to get complicated, I don't want you to worry. I have friends who'll take care of any mess you make. They've been here for so long doing nothing, I'm sure they'll have fun with this.” 

He sealed his promise with another caress. Jean could do nothing but stare at the face above him, it was illuminated by the cracks of moonlight seeping into the shed – or where ever they were. There was blood on his chin that sparkled, everything else was dull and dead. Jean was certain any light could've been lost inside those black holes of his, anyhow. 

“I'll wait for your choice in a few hours. Go ahead and get some rest.” 

With that said, Marco left him utterly alone in the cold, cold room, closing the door behind him quietly. Jean noticed he hadn't bothered to lock it – knowing it wasn't needed. But locked or unlocked, it didn't mean anything to Jean. Not when he couldn't even order his drying eyes to blink. He took one last glance at the cracks on the wood and without warning, passed out. 

When he came to, the moon had been replaced by the sun and it was shining its warm light across Jean's face. He put a hand up to block it, groaning as his stiff muscles complained about the action. Jean gasped. He could move! 

It felt like every fiber of his muscles were being torn into shreds, but even so, he managed to get up from the table and land on his bare feet. He didn't look around to inspect where he'd been all night, he needed to get out – _now_. 

The next few images in Jean's head came in a rush. 

He couldn't feel or hear the same as before, but he could see himself dashing out of the room. His face looked pained with every leap he took and yet he never once stopped. Jean had managed to pass the thick grass, the quarter mile driveway, and finally the opened gate. 

The bottom of his feet were severely cut when he hit the road, but he kept feeling as if someone were chasing him – just inches away from grabbing the collar of his shirt to drag him back to that house. So he ran, and ran and ran until cars started appearing on the road. 

Jean briskly walked then, hugging himself and trying not to look suspicious or as traumatized as he felt, but someone had noticed him and turned their car near the curb. An old man had mistaken him for the homeless, offering to drive him to a soup kitchen. Jean shook his head, his voice cracked when he said he just wanted to go home. 

Now thinking he was a runaway, the man leaned over to open the passenger door. He'd taken him to his apartment, giving him family advice the entire way, but Jean kept silent. He hadn't meant this home. 

Still, he was happy to be as far away as possible from that house. Marco didn't know where he lived, he knew nothing about him really, and Jean felt comfort in that. He entered the apartment happy to find Reiner wasn't there. There was a note barely hanging on the back of their coat closet telling him he was at Ymir's place. 

It fell to the floor as Jean headed to the bathroom. He threw the unknown owner's clothes in the trash, showered, changed and then fell asleep until nightfall. When he awoke from a dreamless slumber, the house was still empty. He didn't like the silence, it made him paranoid. 

Jean threw on a coat and boots, leaving immediately with the intention of telling Reiner and his friends everything that had happened to him last night. Any sane person would – it didn't matter if he wasn't familiar with them, he knew they'd at least listen. But if they didn't, Jean felt scornful and hateful enough to go to the police and charge Marco for kidnapping and admitting to almost _murdering_ him. 

He knew where Ymir lived. He'd had to pick up Reiner from her apartment complex more than a few times when he'd been drunk to the point where he couldn't even hold in his urine. That'd been the first time he'd met her and Krista. They were alright people, but as Jean parked a few slots away from their door, he began to wonder if they'd think his story was as ridiculous as it sounded. 

Once again, everything turned vivid. 

Jean was speaking to himself when he suddenly heard muffled yelling. He looked up to find two girls arguing outside. One was a short blonde with her back facing him, the other tall and tan. The single lightbulb outside their door made their skin look green. It took Jean a minute to realize they were Reiner's friends. 

He watched them fight with one another, their emotions danced along their exasperated arms and around their guarded stance. And with an alarming surprise, Jean saw Krista storm off as Ymir headed back inside with a slam to the door. 

He'd only ever heard good things about the two girls – well, mostly the shorter one. She was supposed to be sweet and patient, but he'd witnessed something else. He could still see the fiery rage in her glare as she leaned against a lamp pole. Jean knew she was waiting for her girlfriend to come back. But after the minutes ticked by, he didn't think that was going to happen. 

“Go back home, go home, go home,” Jean begged her in his car. 

But of course she couldn't hear him. She remained planted where she was, in front of the woods with only parched grass and rocks around her. Defenseless. 

Jean left his car and scanned the area. There were no smokers out, no pet owners taking their dogs to use the bathroom, no other cars coming or going. But with the temperature as low as it was, who would spend so much time outside anyway? 

Krista would. She jumped when she saw him approaching. 

“Jean?” 

“Hey.” 

“Is that really you?” She asked, not insultingly, she couldn't really see him until he was under the light. 

“Yeah, 's really me. I was goin' to your place, but then I saw you two and … “ He trailed off, watching as her tiny shoulders stiffened. 

She gave him a sheepish smile, “Sorry you had to see us that way. Hope we didn't scare you.” 

“No, not at all. But, uh, are you alright? Do you wanna talk about it?” He sounded fake even to his own ears. 

“No, it's fine, thank you. We do this all the time. She just – we just need to cool off.” 

“Well, the temperature is perfect for that. How cold is it? Fifty degrees? Forty?” 

“Actually, I think it's in the mid sixties. You feeling OK?” 

“I'm fine,” Jean noticed she was wearing only a light long-sleeved shirt against the cold he was feeling. He shoved sane, but unwanted thoughts from his head as he kept his eyes on her. 

“So, ah, Reiner told me you went to Annie's party last night and didn't come back home? I was supposed to go too, but couldn't make it. It must've been a lot of fun if you're only just showing up, right?” 

She was nervous. From his peripherals, Jean could see her jittery legs shaking, and it didn't take a genius to know her tight smile meant she was uncomfortable. He smiled back as best he could, but his forced grin exhibited so many contradicting intentions, “Yeah. Fun, it was fun.” 

Krista nodded, and having nothing else to say they both fell silent. He watched her tuck a loose thread of hair behind her ear as a gust of wind decided to blow against them. Jean heard her make a small comment about it, but he wasn't listening anymore. He could _feel_ all of her warmth hitting him from her small body. 

“Go home,” Jean struggled to say. She didn't hear him. 

His throat felt dry like sandpaper, and no matter how many times he swallowed to lubricate it, it wouldn't go away. Jean twitched at a second infliction – it was a headache, and it pounded with such small and fragile beats that he was sure it should've died out as quickly as his sympathy for the girl. 

He took a step closer to Krista, she felt like a furnace and the freezing temperatures were only making his condition worse. She didn't like the way his face appeared and backed away. 

“What's wrong?” Jean asked. She felt nice, she could make him feel better, he was sure of it. 

When Krista didn't respond, he took another step forward. She was being lead into the woods and she grew aware of it far too late. Her mouth only got the chance to open into a scream, but nothing would ever come out because Jean shoved her directly into the pit of stones he'd spotted before he'd even reached her at her pole. 

The base of her skull hit right in between a sharp, jagged rock with many others hitting her in different places. But she was OK, he knew she was still OK. He was far too weak to carry her away from prying eyes, and so resorted into dragging her by her lovely hair into the darkness behind them. 

Jean could take care of her there. He could take care of _himself_ there, too. He heard squirrels and chipmunks fleeing, they were watching him from the trees and bushes. They could smell his need. He ignored them, struggling to haul her limp body at a safe distance. As short as she was, Krista actually weighed more than he'd imagined. 

But her size didn't matter. As Jean plopped her head down on the rigid earth, kneeling down to curl his fingers around her neck, he could feel just how much she was boiling underneath his frozen skin. It wasn't fair for her to keep it to herself. Without overthinking – only trusting his instincts – Jean bit her. 

He did it over and over again until he found a comfortable spot on her chest. When the first few streams entered his mouth, it was as if he were drinking a warm cup of wholesome milk, leaving a soothing trail as it went down into his belly. And like milk, there wasn't really a taste to it. All he knew was that it was fixing the pain radiating in his broken body. 

Jean heard the crack of twigs coming from somewhere deep in the woods – or was it from the neck in his hands? He didn't know, but he didn't stop drinking. He couldn't find it in him to stop, not even when a girl suddenly appeared looking down at him with a hungry smile. 

“You should stop now if you don't want to kill her,” She said, stopping a few feet away. There wasn't any concern in her tone and she made no effort into actually stopping him, “Oh! And there she goes. That sure was fast. Why didn't you pick someone bigger, huh?” 

Jean had Krista. He had _all_ of her. He could feel her coursing in his veins, she was flowing inside of him with the warmth he had jealously felt radiating off her her delicate skin only mere minutes ago. And now, it was his – he was no longer cold. 

He looked down at Krista, her eyes were wide and glassy with fear permanently taking residence on her pale face. Her lashes were wet and her mouth was slightly open. For a split second after he'd bit her, she'd woken up much too late to beg for help. 

“I'll take care of the body,” The redhead knelt down beside him, grinning from ear to ear, “You might want to go to the lake and wash up. Honestly didn't believe you'd do this so quick. You just might be a natural!” 

Jean moved away, watching as the girl took his spot and rubbed her greedy hands together, “Will he be there?” He asked. 

“You should really get going now. I don't like it when people watch me eat.” 

His next vivid memory took place back at Marco's house. Jean could see his black figure standing in the sea of grass, looking out into the lake. He was so still, like an aged statue, he could've easily been mistaken for yard decoration to ward off crows. But when Jean reached him, the statue moved and even gave him a chuckle. He was happy he'd made a choice. 

“What's all over your face, Jean?” Marco asked, knowing already what it was. 

Jean said nothing as he closed in, placing his stained hands on either side of Marco's head. He didn't know whether he should break it off or caress it like the way he'd done to him when he was in the shed not even a full day ago. Jean surprised the both of them by planting a graceless, desperate kiss on Marco's lips. 

It was hard and _angry_. Jean knew the other was able to feel his bitter emotions. He knew he could taste his fury, his blame, his immeasurable horror like how he was able to taste the blood in their shared tongues. 

And then Jean realized his dream had never been a dream at all. He watched as he went inside the house, into a room that had a large mattress with silk bed sheets. It was the nearest room to the lake, he could smell the damp mud even now as he remembered what he'd done with Marco for all those missing days. It was no wonder his bruises had been the healing colors of yellow and green, rather than deep plum when he was back in the apartment. 

But why had they taken so long to appear on his hips? Was it because his borrowed blood hadn't been enough and took its time reaching the surface of his skin? Or perhaps he just hadn't really looked the first time? There was also the soiled venom Marco had infected him with to take in consideration. 

Jean believed it simply hadn't been enough. If Krista could've helped him stay warm longer than a few days, maybe he wouldn't have been so angry towards Reiner. Poor, poor Reiner. He admitted his roommate hadn't deserved an ending like that. 

But after popping a nerve from the revolting vein on his yolk, the cold had seeped into Jean's heart faster than his decision to grab the hammer they kept in a utensil drawer for emergencies. He'd felt it heavy in his hand as he marched to Reiner's bedroom. He banged on the door over and over again until lights flickered under the sill. 

He waited, hearing Reiner's sleepy groans before he tiredly reached the door. It was such a shame that he never even got the chance to ask Jean what was wrong. Perhaps they could've worked things and came to a reasonable conclusion. But there hadn't been anything reasonable about Jean and the way he rammed the metal claw down to the side of Reiner's blonde head. 

He struggled to unhinge it from bone, but once he did, he caved it in – on the same spot – repeatedly until he was absolutely sure Reiner would stop twitching on the floor. He remembered thinking what a big shame it'd be to let all that heat go to waste. Enough of it had already oozed onto the carpet, along with bits of cerebral matter. If he wanted to have some for himself, he was going to have to drink it now. 

Jean wrapped his lips around the gash and gulped. 

Euphoria in its true definition is a sensation very little people have actually experienced. It floods every sense of your being, drowning you in it and granting you thoughtlessness to fully enjoy the immense pleasure. Euphoria is comfort and happiness. And Jean was just _dying_ to have more. He wasn't bothered when there was nothing left to take, he knew there would always be more. This bliss, he _did_ deserve. 

Jean heard a knock on the front door. In his dewy daze, he got up to open it without bothering to check who it was. He saw a short boy standing there, but his face wasn't distinguishable. He didn't have to see him to know who he was. By his short height, the Jean that was reliving the memory knew it was the Rooster Boy. 

“I haven't had this much trouble since Marco's transitioned,” He said, entering the house and closing the door behind him. Jean watched his muddied figure waddle to Reiner's room, “Ho man. That's one big guy – and _one big mess_. Couldn't you find a nicer way to handle him? This is going to take me longer than a day to fix … maybe I should call Sasha. You owe me big time for this clean up.” 

“Who're .. you?” 

“To the community, I'm a friendly janitor at an elementary school. But to _you_ , I'm your friendly janitor cleaning up your problems. Nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you, too.” 

“Alright, kid, time to go wash up. You know where to go, right? I'll take care of things here.” 

Jean was about to leave before he heard their footsteps approaching him. The boy removed his hat and placed it on Jean's head, he also stuffed him into one of his many jackets and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve before kicking him out. 

This time, Jean didn't remember how he got to Marco's house or what they'd talked about. All he could hear and feel were the leather seats of Marco's car creaking. He was on all fours with his knees on the cushions and his hands pressed against foggy glass. He was naked in the dark vehicle, but this time, he could see. Jean looked over his shoulder right as Marco took another thrust inside of him. 

Jean appreciated how handsome he really was again, moaning as the car began to rock. They gazed at one another, silently speaking with their eyes and no longer fearing the perverseness that it displayed. 

That day, Jean had given up. 

 

* 

“Do you remember now?” Marco asked, patiently waiting for him to react. 

The minutes ticked by and Jean remained still, silent and paralyzed. He was trying to process everything he'd done to his … friends? They hadn't been his friends, just people he knew. _But you killed them_ , his mind would tell him. But it didn't really matter, because the ecstasy – the flesh numbing ecstasy – he'd come to know relieved him off all his guilt. And with it he could escape the plague threatening to freeze him. 

“I remember.” 

Marco smiled, a flash of life sparked in his eyes, “If you stay with me this time, you'll be living in summer forever. I'll make sure of it. But it is your choice and I want you to decide all on your own.” 

He'd never had a choice, Jean knew that just as well as the creatures clucking on the roof. But he was fine with it. So when Marco extended his hand out to him, Jean willingly took it and added another monster to The House At 108th Street. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yours truly doesn't know how to add so I had to add two chapters together because i had one left over and that's why it's longer than the others. Thank you for sticking until the end! It's my first time writing horror and I was very out of my comfort zone, but I enjoyed it and I hope you did, too!
> 
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> Happy Halloween guys!!!!


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